


On Love

by dodger_chan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5377313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodger_chan/pseuds/dodger_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Les Amis prepare for their revolution, Grantaire discusses love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the musical, with characterization borrowed from the book

Standing by the window, Enjolras looked up from the essay he was proofreading and surveyed the room. Everyone was hard at work: casings were being filled with powder, pamphlets were being written. Marius's absence was disappointing, but manageable.

“You worry too much, Enjolras. Marius will be at your barricade.” Correction: nearly everyone was hard at work. Grantaire had seated himself at the table closest to the window to drink and watch. And, apparently, to speak. It would be best to keep silent, to return to his own work, but instead Enjolras asks,

“What makes you so certain?”

“He is in love. For now he is happy, but soon enough he will be despondent.” Grantaire refills his glass, smiles somewhat sadly up at Enjolras, and drinks before continuing. “Life without her will mean nothing, and as a poor student and stranger to her family he cannot hope to have her. And that's even if he can find her again. Most likely he's already seen the last of the girl. He will be so eager to die it will be difficult to keep him behind the barricade.”

“You hold a dim view of Marius.” Enjolras should not be surprised. When being sincere, Grantaire's opinions are usually negative.

“I do not mean to insult Marius. Love is not an affliction unique to him. I was only thinking to set your mind at ease. Marius is deeply in love, and if he dies for this girl instead of France it makes little difference. I doubt the National Guard will be able to tell.” Grantaire shrugs, as though a friend's death could be meaningless, before again refilling his glass. 

It angers Enjolras, that Grantaire can only see their deaths and never anything beyond. That he sees their plans as an ending and not a beginning. That he sits drinking, mocking, unconvinced no matter how well crafted the argument, no matter what Enjolras says-

“I didn't think cynics believed in love.” Corfeyrac interrupts the thought. The change in subject should allow Enjolras to return to his work, but as Grantaire turns in chair to address Corfeyrac he continues to listen.

“A man who doesn't believe in love is like a Parisian who doesn't believe in the Seine. One might be able to maintain doubt for a short time, but eventually one must stumble upon the obvious. I certainly believe in love, but I also understand what love truly is: painful, selfish and irrational. Love is a curse, an illness that wrecks a man's mind as throughly as cholera wrecks his health. It is deceitful and cruel; love convinces one to hope for happiness before abandoning him to misery, manipulating him every step of the way. One only speaks highly of love if one hasn't experienced it.” He pauses to drink. “Or, at least, not experienced it for long.”

“Ah, I see how it is. A girl once rejected your affections so you drown your sorrows in wine and harden your heart with cynicism.” Courfeyrac's voice is teasing. Grantaire grins at him. Well, perhaps it is a grin. It seems slightly off to Enjolras, but then Grantaire always seems slightly off to him. 

“A very plausible conclusion, my friend. You are, indeed, correct. And yet every fact you state is wrong. Knowing my feelings are unreturned, I hide my affections; rather than being dismissed once, I am instead rejected at every encounter. And though I sometimes ask the green fairy to comfort me, my love did inspire me to one or two close brushes with usefulness and sobriety.” Grantaire's tone is light to match Corfeyrac's. The tone doesn't quite match the words, at least, Enjolras doesn't think they do. How painful can it be if it can be spoken of with such levity? 

“Usefulness and sobriety hardly sound selfish.” Combferre's voice draws Enjolras' attention back to the room at large. Rather than the productive bustle of just a few minutes ago, there is quiet. Apparently Grantaire's ramblings on love are more engaging than their preparations.

“They are certainly irrational and painful. And when undertaken to impress, they could hardly be called selfless.” Grantaire doesn't seem to mind being a distraction. Since he thinks we are bound to fail anyway one evening's concentration could hardly matter. Enjolras can feel a sneer forming on his lips as he watches Grantaire pour the dregs of the wine bottle into the glass. Why did the man even bother with the glass?

“Perhaps if your love had been requited, it could have led you to more permanent usefulness.” To Enjolras, his own voice sounds disinterested and cool. It must not sound that way to everyone else, because he can hear them hasten back to work before the sentence is complete. Only Grantaire has no work to resume. Grantaire stares at the wine in his glass, makes no move to drink, and Enjolras thinks he may have been too cruel. He was frequently harsher than intended when dealing with Grantaire. There was something about the man, though, that kept Enjolras from lowering his expectations to match his experiences. 

“I doubt that. I'm irredeemable.” Grantaire shrugs dismissively. For a moment, Enjolras thinks that will be the end of it. But Grantaire looks up, waits until their eyes meet. He holds Enjolras' gaze and adds, “We are ill suited. We could have only made each other miserable.”

Grantaire's eyes drop back to his wine. There is nothing more that can be said, so Enjolras places his papers next to the empty bottle, sits and resumes his work.


End file.
